I find it strange that only a few years ago I was on the verge of turning thirty, living at home with my parents, no social life, no hobbies, never leaving the house and not speaking to anyone. I was a good daughter in my parent’s eyes because I did everything they asked, and as a good daughter I never questioned my reality.
My family is very conservative, and I have three older siblings who have obliged my family’s request obediently got married and are parenting their own brood, another generation of obedient automatons with no personality of their own, no opportunity to develop any traits for their own or so it would appear on the outside.
How do I explain to people that liking anything for my own brings me deep shame and embarrassment?
If I were to you that the simple act of being seen bring me fear, seen doing something deemed unsuitable by my family makes me wish for the earth to swallow me up whole and conceal me where none would find me, would you understand?
That’s all I felt for twenty nine years of my life but then without warning and without a cause a pulse inside of me ignited a flame. It was a normal day with a normal routine, I was having my breakfast with my parents when suddenly I became aware, like a veil had been lifted, allowing me to see the world with newfound clarity. I was overwhelmed and over stimulated and I so desperately wanted to cry but I held back my tears and silently finished up my breakfast, cleared the table, washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen and calmly made my way to my bedroom. I felt like a spy concealing my identity, knowing nothing good would come of my family finding out the revelation that poured down upon me only moments earlier.
When I reached my bedroom I was still too afraid to cry. Having my own room didn’t equate to privacy, privacy is only required when you need to disrobe without the watchful eyes of others.
Where I could not cry I did have the luxury to show what I felt on my face. In my bedroom I didn’t have to remain so composed and neutral and in my mirror I could see the fear in my eyes, a haunting gaze that’s desperately intent on self preservation combined with a raw vulnerable instinct that knows how weak she really is against a world so intent on hurting her. Perhaps that look of pure fear, the look of a deer in headlights, was always in my eyes but at that moment I became aware of it.
A quiet, dull numbness that had enshrined my existence for most of my life was replaced by a loud thudding drum. It was a chaotic, uncivilised banging designed to disrupt my reality but through the chaos I saw my true self and she needed help. At that moment I wanted nothing more than for someone to tell me that “everything would be okay”.
I felt for the first time in a long time and past the fear and confusion of it all I also felt hope and excitement for the possibility that something good could happen, except I didn’t know what good meant to me yet. Then there was anger, anger at myself mostly for not recognising that I years had passed, that I wasted my good years feeling nothing. Not knowing that I felt nothing.
This is the beginning of my story. I’ll continue to share my journey with you every week so that you may learn from it, to find solace that maybe someone has shared in your struggles. But I’ll also be sharing my story because I feel that it has to be told, it has stayed hidden within me for too long and it’s time to be shared for my own sanity. You can read it here.